Читать книгу Cull - Stafford Ray - Страница 17

Mulaney ceased pacing when the doorway was filled by the huge bulk of his defence minister. “Morning, Prime Minister!” Woolley boomed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Morning Brett,” he replied. “I was wondering what’s on yours?”

“Give me men around me who are fat,” he whispered, smiling, as he waved Woolley to the chair facing his desk.

Woolley beamed as he eased his bulk into the chair – it was safer to boom and beam – but then he realised Mulaney was expecting a response and the beam faded.

“Pardon?”

“I asked if there was anything on yours.” He smiled mirthlessly. “Your mind.”

“Oh, I see,” Woolley laughed. “Yes, well, we have Jakarta on heat over East Timor again, and with oil topping three hundred and rising, I guess they’re wondering if they should have another grab for The Gap! They didn’t like losing that little puddle of wealth when ET went.”

“That’s not what I wanted to see you about, but now that you mention it, what’s your assessment? Will they have a go?”

“Well, they’ve never been backward in grabbing what they want before. Their press is playing the North-South Wealth Divide game again. They usually do that before invading…”

“Yes, yes!” interrupted Mulaney. “I know all that. We’ve got the new facilities in place now, and we’re sending up Hornets and FA18s within the week. I let that out in half a dozen press releases. They couldn’t miss that in Jakarta. I mean, I can’t see them having a go just yet. Can you?”

“No, not yet,” he allowed. “But I’m not sure that will hold them for long. There are other problems building; like Malaysia is pissed off because we won’t take more refugees and there are hundreds of thousands of Afghans and Arabs still clogging up their camps. With them we’re more than usually on the nose but they aren’t flash points yet, so it’s OK for now.”

The PM appeared to change the subject. “What’s the latest on those aircraft orders?”

“Well, there’ve been a few hiccoughs with delivery.” He noted the PM’s frown. “I was intending to bring that to the attention of cabinet at the next meeting.”

“Tell me now,” he demanded.

“OK, they don’t come up to performance specs, but the Yanks are pushing us to take them anyway.”

“Should we?”

“Not unless we’re desperate; we still have a hundred operational Strike Fighters. That should be enough to make Jakarta think twice.”

“So we’re basically fully committed at the moment. We have no capacity to meet a major flare-up.”

“That’s right, but Defense Dynamics say they can fix the performance problem in six months or so.”

“That’s OK, but will they still have the range?

“Well, it’s a trade-off. Specs speed but shorter range. We need range, so I say we tell them to shove it. No specs, no deal. Look,” he reasoned, “the new Euro Consortium plane will be available in just over a year and it suits us better. Then again, DD needs the cash, so if we hold out, they may drop the price and they’re still a damn good plane. We can afford to wait. It’d be different if we faced an immediate threat.”

Th e PM stared at him for a moment, then picked up a document from his desk and held it in his hand while he again contemplated Woolley’s porcine face.

“OK, let’s talk about that.” He indicated the document. “We do have a threat. Illegals.”

“Illegals?” Woolley knew more asylum seekers had been arriving of late, but that was not his portfolio. He waited.

“We have every facility chock-a-block,” Mulaney said, opening the document. “And every day we seem to be finding another ten boat loads. Even off shore processing and settlement in Papua New Guinea seems to have lost its bite. They’re coming anyway and we just can’t process that many people. They’re breaking us.”

“Well, there’s nothing more I can do, PM,” he said, puzzled at why he was being briefed on the matter. “Unless the rules of engagement are changed, if they can’t or won’t turn back, all I can do is board their boats and bring them in. We’ve no alternatives to detention and we can’t stop them coming.”

“I know your view. You’d have Immigration issue them all with protection visas and let them loose. You know you’re not supported. I don’t want to go there and neither do the Australian people. That’s one reason they got rid of Labor.”

“I know, but you can’t keep locking them up. Nauru is full, Manus is full; everywhere is full. There are just no more facilities and more arrive every day.”

“I know,” agreed Mulaney. “My constituents are banging on one door demanding we send them home and the damned Greens are banging on another door demanding let them loose. Idiots!”

Woolley was anxious to get away from distressing matters that should not be his concern. “Well, they still have some clout in the Senate. But anyway, immigration policy is hardly my area of responsibility.”

Mulaney smiled mirthlessly as he closed the document and held it out to Woolley, just far enough out of reach to force him to lift himself out of the chair to take it.

“What’s this?” he grunted, as he sat back again.

“This was supposed to go to you but you couldn’t be found at 3AM so they woke me. It’s the latest on people smuggling. Makes interesting reading. Look on page two at the satellite images and the explanatory notes on page three.” He waited while Woolley read, noting with satisfaction as his expression changed from genial fat man to horrified everyman.

“Well, Brett,” smiled the PM, “what do you think now?” He laughed. “Still not your concern?”

“This can’t be right,” he almost shouted. “There’s thousands of the bastards on the way, bloody thousands! I can’t believe this.” His eyes appealed for correction. None came, so he rechecked the figures and whispered, “Could be hundreds of thousands!”

The PM took the document back and dropped it onto the desk, his decision made.

“Look, Brett,” he said. “This is no longer a refugee situation; this is an invasion.”

He stared at Woolley, demanding agreement. “And we have to treat it accordingly.”

“That’s a big call, PM,” he said doubtfully. “I would have thought an invasion was by armed people threatening to …”

“It’s an invasion all right,” said Mulaney. “They come uninvited and won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. And, they’re armed with alien ideas that are un-Australian.”

“I’m not sure Australians see it that way …”

“Let me worry about the Australian people,” interrupted Mulaney. “You get your head around how you’re going to repel this invasion.”

Woolley stared at Mulaney as unease crept from his stomach to his eyes. He did not answer. He did not have an answer.

“Well, what are you going to do?” pressed the PM.

“Well, short of blowing them out of the water, there’s not a lot I can do.”

“Is that what you’re proposing?”

“No!” retorted Woolley. “There has to be a better way. All the poor bastards are trying to do is …”

“I know what they’re trying to do, but what I want to know is, what is the man in charge of the defence portfolio going to do? It’s your problem and I expect you to fix it.”

“Frankly, Prime Minister,” he pleaded. “There is no fix. Either we take them in, and that clearly means taking hundreds of thousands or we repel them by force and I don’t have the authority to do that, even if I wanted to.”

“You’ve identified the two choices and I agree with you. There are only two. Of those, only one is sustainable. Now, for Christ sake man, what are you going to do?”

“That’s a bit hard,” he pleaded. “This is at least a party room decision. I don’t think I should be lumbered with…”

“Of course, if you can’t handle the portfolio…”

“That’s unfair, Prime Minister,” he objected. “We’re talking murder here. Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of people. Innocent women and children.”

“And men,” interrupted Mulaney again. “Don’t forget the men. And don’t forget the trouble we’re having with so-called refugees already in the community. Arrive Monday, social security Tuesday, stir up a heap of shit on Wednesday and by the weekend they’re talking jihad. Then we have to watch them like bloody hawks. We can’t afford the ones we’ve got now, and we certainly can’t take in this new lot without turning the place into downtown Kabul! As I said, you have to stop pussyfooting around and fix it.”

“OK,” reasoned Woolley. “We do the shot across their bows routine. They know from past experience we won’t sink them. They can’t go back, so they keep coming. Then what?”

“If they’ve been warned but refuse to stop, they’re an invasion force. We treat them as invaders.”

“Sink them?”

“Well, what do you think? If they won’t leave our territorial waters…it’s their choice.”

Woolley was staring at his hands in his lap. He was trapped. He looked up.

“So, I take that as a direction. I order the Navy and Air Force to use deadly force to prevent alien boats from reaching land.” He laughed bitterly. “Do we pick up survivors?”

“No and no,” Mulaney replied. “It’s not a direction and no, we don’t pick up survivors.” He smiled. “Look, Brett,” he said more gently. “We won’t need to sink many. The rest will turn back.”

“I don’t know,” said Woolley. “It’s a different time and a different reason. Th ese people are not political or economic refugees.” He glanced at the satellite images in his hand. “These are probably delta people. Chinese, Vietnamese… The poor bastards are starving and desperate. They can’t go back. There’s nothing to go back to.” He was shaking his head in denial. “So they’ll run the gauntlet.”

“Brett,” Mulaney said in a friendlier tone. “You’re a nice bloke. If you can’t give the order, I’ll find someone who will. Now, what’s it to be?”

Brett Woolley was drawn to the hard blue eyes that bored into his. He knew there were others who would give the order, a few who would actually enjoy the carnage. They were younger and less caring; successful psychotics like the man staring him down. He decided he should keep the portfolio, at least for now. Perhaps he could minimise the damage. “I’ll give the order, but I need authorisation to come from the party room or from you. OK?”

“Now then, Brett,” the PM purred. “You know these things don’t work like that. You eat the pie, you wear the gravy. Take it or leave it.”

“So you hang me out to dry if there’s a backlash, and there will be.”

“Oh no,” he replied. “I won’t hang you out to dry. If you upset the people, if you’re seen as the one who stuffed up, I’ll sack you! That way, the problem goes when you go.”

“And what do I get for pulling the trigger? What about me?”

“Yes, what about you?” The PM thought for a moment. He did owe his live sacrifice something. “How would you like to head up a foreign delegation? Somewhere nice overseas. You pick.”

“So you’re sure I’ll go?”

“Oh yes, you’ll go. You’ll have to go. If you stay here you’ll probably be shot by an angry pacifist!” he laughed.

“Well, I won’t be safe anywhere in Asia or the Middle East. How about New Zealand?”

“Any second choices?” he asked. “The Kiwis are too close to home. You’ll be a pariah wherever this story makes the news. USA, Canada, South Africa…Maybe Russia is far enough away. You‘ll love Slavic food.”

“Jesus, Mulaney,” he complained. “You never let up, do you!”

“No, and neither should you. Why don’t you walk with me? Lose a few kilos until you can’t.”

“How’s that?”

“Once the shooting starts, I can’t be seen with you,” he laughed. “I can’t be seen to be condoning what you do.”

“Walking is condoning?”

“Anything’s condoning. I’ll thank you in my heart forever, but I’ll never speak to you again.”

“OK,” agreed Woolley. “But have you considered the fallout? On the election? Have you thought about that?”

“Trust me. You just do your bit and save us from the hordes. I’ll save us from ourselves.”

“I need to know the downside, that’s all,” he said. “I mean, if I’m going to stick my dick in the mincer, I’d like to know it was worth it. At least I’d like to think the party will be re-elected.”

“OK.” He smiled mirthlessly. “I’ll call an election on this. The deadly force option will work for us. You know the Howard Doctrine: ‘We’ll decide who comes and under what circumstances’. It worked then and it’ll work now.”

“I don’t know,” Woolley warned. “A lot’s changed since then.”

“No, it’ll work,” he assured him. “Bring out the bogey men and everyone runs to Daddy.” He laughed briefly at his own wit, then returned his gaze to Woolley.

“But we hold off for three weeks to a month before we start shooting, even if we’re justified. We need time to get some fear going in the electorate…”

“But, PM,” he interrupted. “According to this report, there are over five hundred boats on the way as we speak. At least sixty to a hundred boats will arrive within a week and another two hundred the week after that and God knows how many more to follow. It’s urgent we act now.”

“Oh, I’ll act now all right!” he smiled. “I’ll see the Governor General this morning and set up the election a month from next Saturday.”

He stood and walked to the wall calendar. After a few seconds’ consideration he pointed to a date. “God loves me,” he intoned. “A week after footie Grand Final. No time for the punters to think too much about the issues.” He rubbed his hands together “Yes! That gives you two weeks to get those planes over and the service chiefs up to speed. Then…”

“But, PM,” Woolley interrupted. “There could be twenty-five thousand people arriving within two weeks! Didn’t you hear me?”

“Oh, I heard you all right,’ he answered. “There’ll be thousands of aliens running around suburbia scaring the shit out of Mr and Mrs Oz.”

“Is that wise? We may never find them.”

“Wise? It’s brilliant!” He laughed. “The press’ll be howling for blood. We tell ’em the opposition and the Greens are wimps, stopping us in the Senate. We shaft them both at the same time. We just let ’em think there are hundreds of thousands of rapists and terrorists on the way and bingo! We win.”

“These people aren’t rapists or bloody terrorists,” objected Woolley. “They’re just poor starving families displaced by climate change. They aren’t…”

“Who says they aren’t?” he demanded. “Who cares if they aren’t? Don’t you be the one who says they aren’t! We say nothing and our wonderful Australian people, our give-’em-a-fair-go-Australian-values people will feel threatened and that’s what we want. We’ve at least, watch my lips, twenty-five thousand arriving in two weeks and who knows how many hundreds of thousands on the water and how many millions packing their shit ready to head off. They’re the ones watching what happens and they’re the ones we’re sending the telegrams to.”

“But you can’t kill twenty-five thousand people!” shouted Woolley.

“I don’t think it’ll come to that, but if it does, we do it, or we have to shoot a quarter of a million a month later. Again I ask, Brett; what would you do? Let them all come ashore and totally stuff up one of the few economies still intact?” He pointed his finger at Woolley’s ample chest. “Because that’s what they’ll do!”

“I don’t know. They’ve got to go somewhere, poor bastards.”

“I agree, but not here. OK?” He stood to conclude the meeting. “Just prepare the orders. Get the chiefs in, brief them and have them prepare operation outlines for action in, say, three weeks, but have the outlines on my desk in a week. And for Christ’s sake, this is top secret. Don’t delegate. No e-mails and lock everything up. Got that?”

“I guess so,” agreed Woolley reluctantly, heaving his huge bulk out of the chair. “I’ll sign the delivery order today and get to work on the service chaps but I still don’t think this’ll solve your problem.”

“You miss the point. My problem is re-election. Your problem is border protection. Your problem will solve my problem. We’ll get back in with a mandate to do anything we want. I don’t like it any more than you do, but this is survival of the fittest. We’re the fittest and we aim to stay that way. Understand?”

“Yes, PM, I understand,” he agreed reluctantly.

“How many planes are on order?”

“Two hundred.”

“We might need more. See if you can do a deal on another hundred. We don’t want any of those little buggers up north thinking we’re short of fire power.”

“We don’t have a budget allocation for another hundred. We usually run that past Treasury.”

“Don’t you worry about Treasury. Your first priority is the planes and ordnance, then the generals.”

He handed over the document. Woolley stared at it in his hand for a long moment, nodding his head. He had no choice. There was no choice.

“Right, PM,” he said as he turned to go. “I’ll have the whole operation ready for your perusal in a week.”

“Good man.” Mulaney smiled and turned back to his desk to sit, his minister dismissed.

As the door closed, he lifted the intercom phone. “Set up a meeting with the Governor General,” he commanded. “ASAP.”

He listened for confirmation, then hung up, sighed and began sketching out his press release.

The election was in the bag and he was about to serve notice on the world that he was the statesman and leader the free world had been waiting for.